Chapter Seventeen
It was quite dark by the time the private stagecoach stopped in front of the Crooked Creek Saloon in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The Crooked Creek Saloon was on Fifteenth Street, separated from the Eagle Bar by the Western Hotel. Houser was the sole passenger, and on the stops the coach made to change teams, Houser avoided any conversation with the driver because he didn’t want to give the driver any idea that he was anything more than a hired man.
“You want me to wait here, Mr. Houser?” the driver asked.
“Yes, keep the coach here until I return.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the coach, Houser went into the Crooked Creek Saloon and stood just inside the batwing doors for a moment, perusing the two dozen or more customers. Because a man in a three-piece suit was seldom seen in a saloon, Houser was as much the viewed, as the viewer.
About a third of the drinkers were standing at the bar, the rest were sitting at the tables. He saw his brother sitting with several others at a table in the farthest corner of the room. He had no idea who the other men were, though he recalled that the telegram had said there would be five men with him.
Shamrock stepped over to the next table and, picking up the only remaining empty chair, without asking, moved it to his table. There were three men at the table that lost the chair, but they saw that there were five with the man who took the chair and decided that it would be better not to offer any protest.
The others at Shamrock’s table made room for the chair that was brought over for Houser.
“I must say, Thomas, that I am rather surprised to see you in Wyoming. I thought you were in Texas,” Houser said as he took his seat.
“See, what did I tell you fellers? Did you hear how he called me Thomas? He’s just real polite, bein’ as he’s a lawyer ’n all.”
“I no longer follow the legal profession,” Houser replied. “I am not even a member of the bar in Wyoming.”
“What do you mean you ain’t in a bar?” one of the men with Shamrock asked. “Hell, you’re in a bar now, ain’t you?”
“Indeed I am,” Houser said without further explanation.
“What I want to know is, why did you call Shamrock, Thomas? Don’t you know his real name?” Wix asked.
“It’s a name I used to use sometimes,” Shamrock said. No further explanation was needed, as not one of the men who had come with Shamrock was using the name he was born with.
“What are you doin’ now, if you ain’t lawyerin’?” Shamrock asked.
“I own a ranch, some north of here.”
“You need ’ny more hands?”
“No.”
“We need a place to . . .”
“Hide out?”
“Yeah.”
“What have you done?”
“Same thing me ’n you done down in Sulphur Springs, only this here ’un didn’t turn out as good as that one did.”
“You got a great deal of money from that, uh, incident,” Houser said. “Fourteen thousand dollars, as I recall. What did you do with it?”
“You done a job that you got fourteen thousand dollars for?” Hawke asked, surprised by the amount. “Son of a bitch! That’s a hell of a lot of money! I ain’t never seen that much money in my whole life. How come we ain’t never done nothin’ to make that much money?”
“Tell them why,” Houser said.
“Uh, ’cause I ain’t never found another bank like that first one.”
“Who found it?” Houser asked.
“You did.”
“Yes. I did. What did you do with the money?” Houser asked.
“I spent it,” Shamrock said.
“You spent fourteen thousand dollars, with nothing to show for it?” Houser asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are there wanted posters out on you, Thomas?”
“Prob’ly down in Texas there is,” Shamrock replied. “But they don’t nobody know nothin’ ’bout us up here in Wyoming.”
“So you came up here to ask for my help, did you?”
“Yeah. I mean, bein’ as we’re brothers ’n all, I figured, where else could I go? Besides which, like I said, I ain’t wanted up here, ’n I was figurin’ that, well, you bein’ so smart, maybe you could come up with another job like that one we done in Sulphur Springs.”
“We didn’t do that job,” Houser replied. “If you recall, I kept my hands clean.”
“Yeah, ’n got most of the money,” Shamrock complained.
“Who else would you come to for help, if not for me?” Houser asked.
“Yeah, there is that. So, what do you say? Will you help me out, or not?”
Houser drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then he smiled.
“As a matter of fact, you may have arrived at a most fortuitous time.”
“What? What does that mean?” Shamrock asked.
“It means that I have been contemplating something, and you and your associates may just be who I need to put the plan into effect.”
“What do you have in mind?” Shamrock asked. “Another bank as easy as that first one, ’n with as much money?”
“No, there is no bank involved. But there can be a great deal of money, even more money than before.”
“All right!” Shamrock said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s do it!”
“You haven’t asked what it is.”
“I don’t care what it is. I figure if it’s somethin’ you got planned, it’ll be a lot of money, ’cause there was the last time,” Shamrock said.
“Yeah, well, speaking of money, we ain’t got hardly none at all now,” Wix said.
“Who are you?” Houser asked.
“My name is . . . uh . . . Wix.”
“Tell me who the rest of them are,” Houser said to his brother.
“This here is Jeb Jaco, Pete, don’t know his last name, Evans, ’n Hawke,” Shamrock said, pointing out each of the men as he named them. “’N you done met Wix.”
“Have you no money left from your recent activity?”
“We got maybe twenty dollars betwixt us all,” Shamrock said.
Houser took six twenty-dollar bills from his pocket and handed one to each of them. “You can consider this an advance until I put my plan into operation.”
“When will that be?” Shamrock asked.
“When I’m ready,” Houser replied.
“All right,” Shamrock said. “But how ’bout you buy us a couple of bottles now?”
“I just gave you twenty dollars apiece—buy them yourselves,” Houser said. “But stay where I can get hold of you.”
“All right if we get us some whores tonight?” Shamrock asked.
Houser started to say no, but he hesitated for a moment. “You may as well do it now, because once I get you up to Chugwater, I’m going to keep you too busy to visit with whores, or anything else.”
“Just what is it you have in mind for us to do?” Shamrock asked.
“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” Houser replied.
“Come on, Shamrock, let’s get us some whores,” Evans said. “We’re wastin’ time, talkin’.”
* * *
The next morning Houser was sitting in the outer chambers of the office of the acting governor of Wyoming Territory. He had no prior appointment with the governor, but a short while earlier he had given a $100 bill to the governor’s appointment secretary with a request to “find a couple of minutes for me.”
The appointment secretary glanced around the office quickly to see if the transaction had been observed, and seeing that it had not, he stuffed the money in his pocket and nodded.
Less than five minutes later, the appointment secretary stepped out of the governor’s personal office.
“Governor Morgan will see you now, Mr. Houser.”
Elliot Morgan was the acting governor of Wyoming Territory, having attained the position after the very popular William Hale died in office.
Governor Morgan was a relatively small man, with a mustache and long, flowing chin whiskers. He was standing in front of his desk and extended his hand to Houser.
“It’s very good of you to see me, Governor,” Houser said.
“I’m told that you are a cattleman of some standing,” Governor Morgan replied. “And, as the cattle industry is significant to our territory, I would be remiss in not receiving an esteemed member of that estate. Now, Mr. Houser, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Governor, I’ve come on behalf, not just of myself, but for all of the larger ranchers in the Valley of the Chug. The national homesteader act has become a serious threat to the survival of our industry.”
“How so?”
“Dozens, scores, and, no doubt, soon to be hundreds of men who know nothing of the cattle business have been flooding into the valley, denuding the open range of grass, denying water access to the traditional ranchers, and polluting the streams that our cattle can reach. In short, sir, the cattle industry of Wyoming is facing a serious crisis.”
“That may be true, Mr. Houser,” the governor replied. “But as you pointed out yourself, the homesteading act is a federal act, and I, as territorial governor, have no way to alleviate the problem.”
“But there is a problem you can help us with,” Houser said.
“Oh? What is the problem, and how can I help?”
“Cattle rustling,” Houser said. “As it turns out, these small ranchers are not only having a poor effect upon the very grass and water our industry is so dependent upon, they are also augmenting their herds with cattle they have stolen from us. In some cases, I have no doubt, they are doing more than merely augmenting their herds with stolen cattle. A few, no doubt, have an entire herd that consists of cattle stolen from the larger ranchers, under the auspices of taking mavericks.”
“Ah, I am aware of the practice of taking unbranded cattle that are found on open range and with no way of establishing ownership. That is quite legal.”
“Yes, it is legal if the cattle are unmarked and taken from open range where they have wandered away from their home ranch so that there is no way of determining from whence they came. But these perfidious homesteaders have perverted the concept of acquiring mavericks and are actually coming onto privately held land, stealing our unbranded calves even before our ranch hands can gather them up in roundup. There is nothing legal about that, Governor.”
Governor Morgan pulled upon his beard. “No, there is nothing legal about that. But I don’t know why you have come to me with that problem. Shouldn’t you take that problem to the local sheriff? Or, perhaps, to a U.S. Marshal?”
“I fear that the rustling is so pervasive that it would overwhelm the resources of a sheriff or U.S. Marshal. However, I do have suggestion as to how it can be handled, but that will require your official approval.”
“Of course, I’ll do anything I can. What do you require of me?”
* * *
After leaving the capitol building with the governor’s approval of the plan he had proposed, Houser returned to the Crooked Creek Saloon, where he saw Hawke sitting alone at one of the tables.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“Jaco is out back takin’ a piss. Wix ’n Evans is still upstairs with the whores they got last night. Sid ’n Pete’s next door havin’ their breakfast.”
Even as they were talking, Jaco came back into the saloon.
“I will go next door and retrieve my brother and Pete. You two go up ’n get Wix and Evans down here.”
“I told you, they was both with whores right now,” Hawke said.
Houser smiled. “Then you should have no trouble finding them, should you?”
“Ha!” Jaco said. “Come on, Hawke, I’m goin’ to get a kick out of this.”
“Yeah,” Hawke said, also grinning at the prospect. “Yeah, come to think of it, I will, too. I’ll take Wix. I want to see the look on his face when I pull him offen the whore.”
“The first thing I want all of you to do is sell your horses,” Houser ordered when they had regathered.
“Wait a minute, now, why should we do that?” Shamrock asked. “I got me a real good horse. It’s a palomino, ’n ’bout the purtiest thing you ever seen.”
“Think about it, Thomas. A horse like that is sure to stand out. By divesting yourselves of your horses you can sever one of the links that could lead the authorities to you. Because of the exposure, I don’t even want to risk going on a train, so to ensure our privacy, I have rented a stagecoach to take us back to my ranch.”
“What’ll we do for horses once we get there?” Jaco asked.
“When we reach my ranch, I will provide you with fresh mounts.”
“Wait a minute,” Shamrock said. “This work you got in mind for us, ain’t workin’ on your ranch is it? ’Cause I ain’t no ranch hand ’n they ain’t none of these boys that’s ranch hands, neither. If that’s what you got in mind, you can just go on back to Chugwater, ’n me ’n the others will keep our horses ’n go somewhere else.”
“I have no intention of employing you as cowboys,” Houser said. “As you have so ungrammatically stated, you would be useless in such an endeavor. I have something entirely different in mind, and something that shall prove to be more lucrative for you.”
“More what?” Hawke asked.
“He means something that will make a lot of money,” Shamrock said. “My brother always has had him a highfalutin way of talkin’.”
“Well,” Hawke said with a broad smile. “Iffen he has a way of us makin’ a lot of money like he made for you, why, he can talk any way he wants to. It sure as hell don’t make no nevermind to me.”
“Go down to the livery and sell your horses,” Houser said. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Abney, and he said that he would be happy to do business with you.”
“Yeah? For how much?” Wix asked.
“You will take whatever he offers,” Houser said. “We don’t have time for any lengthy negotiations. I want to get under way as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t goin’ to sell my horse without I get a good price,” Wix insisted.
“Understand this, all of you,” Houser said. “If you are going to work for me, I will expect unquestioned obedience to my every command. If you can’t do that, I’ll have no use for you.”
He looked directly at Wix. “And that includes my order to sell your horses. Now, you either sell your horse for the sum Mr. Abney offers, or you keep your horse and ride away. Your absence alone will not seriously impair the task I will be setting for the others.”
“I’ll sell my horse,” Wix said, the challenge gone from his voice.
“I rather thought you would,” Houser said.